


The Island.

by toomanytuesdays



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:01:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26294560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomanytuesdays/pseuds/toomanytuesdays
Summary: When fighting God gets a little too much for Dean, Castiel suggests the pair of them take a break and move to a remote island off the coast of Ireland to run a coffee shop.Set after 15x09: The Trap.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter One.

Dean sat beside Castiel, staring at the brown liquid in his glass, and contemplating what had happened that day. What had Chuck said to make Sam believe him? What did Chuck say that could possibly change Sam’s mind in wanting to kill him? Or at least trap him? Their only hope, the spell that Michael had given them, was gone. The levithan blossom was all used up, and the rift to Purgatory dissipated. Dean’s hope was fading with every failed attempt. The only thing that was keeping him going was the angel sitting beside him. His angel. Who had forgiven him and was back in his life. Who had saved the day. Not that Dean ever doubted he couldn’t; Cas always saved the day. 

As he swirled the whiskey in his glass, he heard footsteps in the hall before Sam appeared in the doorway, a forlorn look on his face. Both Dean and Cas looked up at him as he turned to look back the way he came. 

“Did she leave?” Dean asked, quietly, fearful for the answer. Not for himself, but for his brother’s breaking heart.

Sam inhaled, his breath catching. “Yeah,” he said, fiddling with the sleeves of his shirt. 

“Sorry,” Dean said, dropping his head to look back down at his glass to avoid Sam seeing his pitiful expression. 

“We saw a chance,” Sam stepped down into the room, “to, uh, stop Chuck, but . . .” He paused, trying to find the words to say without the threat of tears spilling over. Dean and Cas looked up at him, Cas with a solemn expression, Dean with serious concentration. “What Chuck showed me, what happened if we trapped him . . . I believed him. I still do.” He looked straight into Dean’s eyes as he said that, but he couldn’t hold them for long, for fear of Dean being angry at him. Dean’s expression showed nothing, he couldn’t read what Dean was thinking. But from past experiences, from Dean’s expression after Chuck destroyed the ball with the spell in it, Sam knew Dean would be angry. 

Sam turned his head away, bracing himself for Dean’s harsh words. 

Dean nodded, the corners of his mouth turning down in the mouth equivalent of a shrug. “Well, that’s good enough for me.”

Sam’s head snapped to Dean; shock, relief, confusion crossing his face at once. Dean just lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip. A short silence came across the trio as both Sam and Cas processed Dean’s off-character reaction.

Purgatory had changed Dean. But not just Purgatory, his whole situation with Cas over the past few weeks. It made Dean realise he shouldn’t be angry at the people he loves for their decisions and choices they made in the moment. Dean couldn’t control everything, and having his brother and his best friend on his side were more important than his anger. 

Realising Dean wasn’t going to say more, Sam sighed and spoke up, “Okay, uh, so what now?” He swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat, from a mix of relief that his brother was on his side, and grief that Eileen had left him as well as the things he saw today. 

Castiel spoke for the first time, “Well, Chuck’s gone, but -” 

“He’ll be back,” Dean interrupted, glancing at Cas before dragging his eyes to Sam.

Sam nodded. “If we can’t kill him, or trap him . . .”. He couldn’t think of anything else they could do to stop Chuck, to stop the future that he’d just seen from happening.

“Well then we find another way,” Dean said determinedly, looking straight into Sam’s eyes. 

Sam’s eyes glossed over as he nodded. He was about to cry and he couldn’t let Dean and Cas see him do it. He cleared his throat and sighed.

“Okay, uh, I’m going to, uh, go . . .” he trailed off, thumbing over his shoulder in the direction of his room. Dean just nodded, taking another sip of his whiskey. Cas gave him a sympathetic look, before turning back to Dean. Sam turned and rushed out, but he didn’t make it to his room before the tears began to fall. 

*

Later that evening, Cas sat at the desk in the library, scrolling through the news on Dean’s laptop. He wasn’t in search of anything in particular; he thought maybe if he looked, he might find a hunt or anything that could take Sam’s and Dean’s minds off the problem at hand. As he scrolled, his mind wandered to the words of Dean’s prayer. And Dean’s face after he found him. And Dean’s warm embrace, how he had hugged Cas so tightly, like he never wanted to let go. 

Despite being deep in his thoughts, Cas’ eye caught the title of a posting. He sat upright and read it again:

 **_A remote island in Ireland is looking for 2 friends to live there for free and run its coffee shop_ **.

Castiel’s interest was piqued. This was exactly what they needed. An escape from this, from hunting, from God, from the deaths of their closest friends and family; an escape from their stresses to refresh and recuperate, and possibly find a new solution to their Chuck problems. 

Cas clicked on the article, and the more he read, the more he was convinced. He was about to send an email to the address from the article when Dean entered the room, two beers in his hands. 

“Hey, how’s it going?” Dean asked, reaching the table and sliding one of the bottles over to Cas.

“It’s going well,” Cas replied, tilting the beer in Dean’s direction as a thank you. “I found something.”

Dean sighed as he sat down. “Cas, we just got back from Purgatory. Chuck is gone, again, and we don’t have a plan for what to do next. I don’t think a hunt is the right thing for -”

“It’s not a hunt,” Cas interrupted.

Dean stopped, his head turning to Cas with a frown. “Well, what is it?”

“It’s a job position.” Cas turned the laptop towards him, the article open for him to read.

Dean’s frown deepened as he took the laptop and read through the article. “A coffee shop?!” he asked, perplexion apparent in his voice and facial expression. 

“On a remote island,” Cas nodded.

“Cas, I don’t have the beginnings of an idea on how to run a coffee shop,” Dean said, pushing the laptop away. 

“That’s okay. It says no experience needed,” Castiel assured, taking the laptop back and proceeding to find the email address again.

“Cas, no,” Dean said, reaching over and slapping the laptop shut. “I can’t. I can’t leave Sam like that. He just lost Eileen. He’d be alone if we left. And Chuck? He’s gone too, and time is running out. We need to find a way to stop him. We can’t just run away.” 

Although there was no anger in his voice, Cas felt scolded at. “But Dean . . .” he tried.

“No.”

“Dean . . . “

“I said no, Cas. I’m not leaving Sam.” Dean stood abruptly, his chair crashing to the floor. He stalked out of the room, leaving Cas staring after him in defeat.

~*~


	2. Chapter Two

A few weeks later, the Winchesters were sitting in the basement library, surrounded by piles and piles of books. Sam had moved all of Rowena’s witch books down here, but after searching through them, could not find a single spell that would involve killing, trapping, or at least diminishing God. But he was pleased with the distraction. He didn’t want to just sit around and wallow in his self-pity the way Dean does. He hadn’t heard from Eileen since she left, despite leaving her a few messages. Okay, maybe several. Twenty to be exact. 

Dean wouldn’t stop bugging him. He was constantly checking on Sam, seeing if he wanted anything; junk food, talk, alcohol, porn. Dean just wouldn’t understand that Sam handles his grief differently than he does. And that meant that Dean wouldn’t leave Sam alone for five minutes, either leaving Cas with him if he had to leave the room, or telling Sam to come with him, wherever he needed to go. 

There was no way Dean was letting his little brother out of his sight again, not when last time Chuck managed to get his twisted claws into him. Although Dean never wanted to leave Sam’s side, he was in his personal hell; days and days of reading books was not his favourite thing in the world. 

After yet another God-less book, Dean slammed the cover shut and groaned loudly. “Dude, we got nothing. We’ve looked in every single book in this bunker a billion times and still we have nothing!” he exclaimed, frustration laced in his voice. Sam just looked at his brother incredulously, scoffing at how childish Dean was acting.

“We haven’t read them a billion times,” he started.

Dean frowned and banged his feet onto the table. “Well it bloody well feels like it.”

Sam frowned at his brother’s behaviour. “Dean, come on. Have a little patience.”

“No, Sam! We’ve been looking for an answer for weeks now. Cas has been searching for anything on angel radio. Michael has been and tried to help but the levithan blossom spell was all he knew. Donatello has searched the tablets. Hell, even Rowena is searching Hell’s records for something, anything. But we’ve got nothing. We’ve lost every time we tried, we lost Mom, we lost Jack, we lost Eileen.” Sam’s face dropped at the mention of her name. “I don’t even know why we try anymore,” Dean finished, tears glistening in his eyes. Sam dropped his eyes to the open book in front of him. 

“Dean . . .” Sam trailed off as Cas appeared next to Dean, the flap of his wings sounding weak and out of breath. Dean jumped slightly before noticing Cas’ weak state and worry crossed his features.

“Cas, here,” he said, leaping out of his chair for Cas to sit in. He flopped into the chair, exhausted. Dean immediately moved to place a hand on his shoulder, concerned. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Dean. Sergei has nothing either. I even threatened to burn his living quarters down, but he was adamant he had never heard anything about a God-killing spell or weapon,” Cas explained, breathing heavily. Dean shifted his weight from foot to foot, a nervous habit. He was worried about Cas’ diminishing grace. Over the past couple of weeks, Cas had done all he could to help the brothers by using his grace, but that only caused it to get weaker and weaker. Cas was sleeping more, beginning to get hunger cravings, and even the smallest of wounds weren’t healing like they used to. This was the final straw for Dean.

“You’re not using your grace anymore,” Dean stated firmly, his hand still gripping Cas’ shoulder as if he were to fade away from him at any second.

“Dean, I’m fine. My grace is fine to use. It’s okay,” Cas argued, sitting up straighter in his chair.

“No, Cas, you haven’t seen yourself. You look like shit, and I say that out of respect. I’m not letting you use your grace until it’s fully restored,” Dean said, face hardening and looking right into Cas’ eyes. The pair were silent, having a full conversation with their eyes, until Sam cleared his throat, interrupting them.

“I’m sorry, Cas, but I agree with Dean,” he said, eyes flicking between the two and shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Cas looked at him, betrayal evident in his eyes, but he sighed. 

“Fine. But only if you agree to go to the island,” he bargained, a small smirk dancing on his lips. 

Sam frowned. “What island?” he asked.

Dean glared at Cas, annoyed that he brought it up in front of Sam. “Nothing. There’s no island. It’s not important. Do you want a beer or something?” he said quickly, changing the subject.

“No, Dean, don’t run away,” Cas pointed out. He turned to Sam, “It’s a remote island off the coast of Ireland that is advertising for two people to live there for several months and run the coffee shop. I thought it would be a good idea for Dean to have a break from all . . . this.” He gestured around the room. 

Sam considered it for a moment. “Two people?” he asked.

“Well . . . I was hoping to go with Dean,” Cas replied, eyes flicking to Dean, who stood with his arms crossed beside him. The more Cas explained the idea to Sam, the more convinced he was. He would finally get some peace and quiet for once. 

After Cas finished informing Sam on the island, Sam nodded and grinned. “I like the idea! It would get you out of here and away from the situation. Which could mean you could think of an alternative solution to the Chuck problem if you were in a different setting,” Sam said, glancing between the couple opposite him.

Dean just scoffed, throwing his hands up in the air in defeat. “Of course you would,” he muttered. “Look, I don’t wanna go, so can we just drop this? Now? Please?”

Cas and Sam just exchanged knowing looks but agreed, nodding their heads slowly.

“Good. Thank you. Now, I need a beer,” Dean growled, stalking out of the room towards the kitchen, leaving Cas and Sam to discuss the island further.

*

A couple days later, Sam was researching on his laptop when he came across a news article that sounded somewhat familiar to him. Frowning, he leaned forward to read it when the door to the bunker opened, and Dean and Castiel strolled in, playfully bickering. 

“I’m telling you, Cas, the burgers at the diner on the State Highway are so damn better than the ones at that cart near the library. I mean, who even goes to the library anyway?” Dean exclaimed as the pair made their way down the stairs.

“Well, I’m going to agree to disagree with you, Dean. I am a celestial being and I -”

“Oh, don’t you go pull the angel card on me, man. I know better.” They reached the map table where Sam was sitting, dumping their shopping finds on the table. It was mostly beer. 

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean announced, “found anything while we were away?”

Sam looked up from the computer, still frowning. Dean’s smile instantly dropped.

“What is it?”

“There’s a case,” Sam stated. “And it sounds just like one we did back in ‘05. The shapeshifter.”

“What? The one that wore my face and tried to murder your little college buddy?” Dean asked. Cas shot him a questioning look, to which Dean responded with, “Tell ya later,” and a wink.

“Yeah, except this time there are dozens of the same murders all around the country. Almost like the shifter is moving,” Sam explained. 

“Well, shouldn’t we check it out?” Cas asked, glancing between the brothers.

Sam and Dean looked at each other and simultaneously shrugged. 

“Well, why not? We may as well get outta here as we haven’t got any leads on Chuck,” Sam suggested.

“And it’s a whole damn closer to home than a remote island in Ireland,” Dean muttered, “Let’s go.”

*

After arriving in Charleston, South Carolina, dropping their belongings off at a small run-down motel, and changing into their suits, the trio made their way to the most recent crime site, which conveniently was only the day before. They flashed their badges to the police on patrol, and strode into the house. The scene was bloody; it seemed as though the whole ground storey of the house had been redecorated with the victim's blood. 

Dean tried not to screw up his nose as they spotted the lead detective chatting quietly to a man with a camera. The detective spotted the men before they reached him.

“Can I help you, gentlemen?” he asked.

“Hey there, I’m Detective Howard, and these are Detective Fine and Besser. We’re here for the domestic murder cases.” Dean flipped his badge in the direction of the detective, quick enough so he could see the FBI logo and Dean’s picture, but not so slow that he could notice his badge was a fake. The detective nodded and dismissed the photographer.

“Detective Babineaux,” he said, extending his hand for Dean to shake. Sam and Cas wandered off, investigating the rest of the house for any signs of supernatural beings. 

“Can you tell me what happened here?” Dean asked, gesturing around at the crime scene.

“The suspect, Joe Briggs, came home last night to find his wife, Sandra Briggs, tied up and bloody. Claims that he was away on a business trip and just got home. Said his wife was screaming at him not to hurt her, then a guy who looked just like him trapped him in the bathroom and murdered the wife,” Babineaux explained.

“Mmm, lovely,” Dean commented. “Where’s the husband now?”

“We have him locked up down at the station.”

“And the body?”

“Already being processed at the morgue. It was a bloody mess, as you can see, so I doubt the autopsy will take long,” the detective said. 

“Have you spotted any connections to the other domestic murder cases across the country?” Dean asked.

“You mean other than the fact that the vics were murdered in the same way?” Babineaux raised his eyebrows, looking at Dean questioningly. “No, not really. We haven’t had much time to investigate but to my knowledge, this vic has no connections to the other vics.” 

Dean nodded and thanked him, leaving to meet up with Sam and Cas at the door.

“Dude, it sounds just like the son of a bitch shapeshifter who stole my face,” Dean whispered angrily as they made their way down the front steps.

“So what, he came back when Chuck brought everything back? How did he skip out on the spell that brought them all back to Hell?” Sam questioned.

“Perhaps he was too far away?” Dean suggested. 

“No,” Castiel spoke up. “Rowena didn’t sacrifice herself for just a little spell. That spell banished all spirits back to Hell. This must be a different shapeshifter than the one you two have already defeated.”

They reached Baby, and clambered in. 

“There’s only one way to find out,” Dean said, starting up the engine. “A trip to the morgue.”

They found their way to the local hospital easily enough, and made their way down to the morgue. The coroner was working on a body when they walked in.

“Morning, we’re here to see the body of Sandra Briggs,” Sam said, flashing his badge to the coroner.

“You’re just in luck,” he replied. “I was just finishing up on her now.”

“Can you tell us what happened?” Castiel asked as he moved to the body, his eyes raking over the organs.

“Her heart was ripped out. Seems as though she was clawed open: I found traces of wolf fibers in the chest here. Which seems odd as the detectives told me it was a domestic murder,” the coroner explained, gesturing to the respective areas as he spoke. 

Sam pursed his lips, glancing a look at Dean, who had the same knowing expression on his face. 

“Do you have any of the autopsy reports from other vics that were murdered in the same way?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, they’re in my office. I’ll go ahead and get them for you,” the coroner replied, hurrying out the room.

“A shifter that killed its victims like a werewolf?” Dean questioned as soon as the doctor was out of earshot.

“Or a shifter and a werewolf working together,” Sam proposed. 

“It does seem odd, either way,” Cas prosed, leaning to take a closer look at the body. 

“Well, whatever it is, it’s definitely a case for us, that’s for sure,” Dean said. 

“The heart has clearly been ripped out by claws,” Cas concluded. 

“What shifter eats their victim’s heart?” Dean continued to question.

“Well we’re not entirely sure it was a shifter,” Sam argued.

“ _ IT _ was wearing the husband’s face, of course it was a shifter!” Dean exclaimed.

“It could have been a ghoul, or the Leshi,” Sam suggested.

“Well, the dude wasn’t dead, so it couldn’t be a ghoul. And we killed the Leshi years ago. If it came back with the others, it woulda gone back with them too,” Dean shot back.

“Here we go fellas,” the coroner interrupted, re-entering the room with a handful of files in his hand. Sam and Dean glanced at each other, hoping he didn’t hear the conversation they were having. “All victims had the same cause of death. Heart ripped out and wolf fibers found in their chests.”

They chatted for a little more about the victims before thanking the coroner and leaving the hospital. 

“Now that we’ve found how they all died, we need to find a connection between the murders,” Sam said, once they were outside.

“Sounds good. How ‘bout Cas and I head back to the motel and do a little research, while you go interview the suspect?” Dean suggested. 

Sam stopped in his tracks. “Since when do you voluntarily do research? You hate research,” he stated. 

Dean only shrugged mysteriously, shooting a glance at Cas. Sam sighed; guess he didn’t have a choice.

~*~


	3. Chapter Three

“Ugh, Sam was right, I hate research,” Dean groaned, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms above his head. 

Castiel looked up from his laptop, a small smile playing on his lips. “You were the one who volunteered,” he commented.

“Oh, don’t rub it in. I only did it to spend time with you.” The words were out of Dean’s mouth before his brain could stop them. He felt a hot blush creep up from his neck as he lifted his eyes to glance at Cas. If Cas had heard him, he didn’t show any sign of it. He was focussed on the laptop as he continued to read, tongue slightly visible through his lips, brows creased in concentration. Dean internally sighed with relief, his eyes raking over the angel’s face, memorising it. As Dean watched, all the love he had for the angel plastered on every inch of his face, Castiel suddenly straightened in his seat, snapping Dean out of his trance.

“What is it?” he asked, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the table, his previous statement gone from his thoughts as quick as it slipped from his lips. 

Castiel was silent for a moment, still reading, before his eyes flicked up to Dean. “Didn’t the investigator say that Joe Briggs was arriving home from a business trip?” he asked, brows creasing further. 

Dean nodded slowly. “Yeah, the investigator didn’t seem convinced, though.”

“That’s the common denominator,” Cas said, his eyes clearing with realisation. “All the suspects were coming home from a business trip.”

Dean frowned. “But how does that make any sense? Unless they were all on the same trip . . .” he trailed off. “Were they?”

Cas shook his head. “No, but they could have stayed at the same hotel.”

Dean’s eyes lit up. “Find that hotel,” he demanded, his own attention falling back to his laptop, fingers already flying across the keyboard. The pair were silent for several moments, the only sound in the room was their fingers tapping keys and the mini fridge filter humming away. The silence was broken by Dean slamming his hand down on the table victoriously.

“Found it!” he cheered, grinning wide as he eyed Cas. “The 8 Mile Inn, not far from here.” He slammed his laptop shut, standing in the process. “Well, eight miles to be exact.” He held his hands out at his sides in an  _ ‘aren’t I just the funniest person ever’ _ gesture, waiting for Cas’ response.

Cas rolled his eyes and stood as well, collecting his trench coat from where it draped neatly over the back of his chair. Dean grinned, knowing that Cas secretly loved it, and grabbed his keys and phone. He flipped Sam a text, telling him where they were going, as the pair locked up their motel room. They made it to the inn in approximately 10 minutes, and were in the inn’s reception within 2 more. The inn was quiet, but didn’t look half bad. It was a vintage, renovated, two storey villa that looked bigger on the inside than it did on the outside. The reception and adjoining sitting room area was decorated with dark woods, maroon fabrics and gold accents. Both Cas and Dean looked around, nodding at the interior design. It wasn’t contemporary, but it was warm and inviting. 

The reception was empty, thus Dean tapped the small bell, the shrill noise ringing through the quiet halls. There was a rustle down the hallway that disappeared to the left of the reception’s desk, and a woman with dark hair piled on top of her head, and a pale blue shirtdress appeared looking flustered and wiping her hands on a tea towel. 

She smiled brightly when she reached Dean and Cas. “How can I help you?” she asked.

“I’m Detective Howard, and this is Detective Fine, we’re with the FBI. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?” Dean flipped his badge in her direction and fixed her a serious gaze. He imagined Cas was doing the same. 

The woman looked between the pair, her smile faltering. After a moment, she nodded. “Of course. Uh, please, take a seat.” She gestured into the sitting room on Dean and Cas’ right. 

Dean tightly smiled at her before turning on his heel and making his way over to the couch, Cas on his heels. The pair sat next to each other, fixing their respective coats and jackets to settle comfortably on the couch. The woman sat opposite them in an armchair.

“Oh, my apologies. My name is Penelope Moore, would you like a tea? Coffee? Water?” she said, jumping up again when she remembered her hostess manners.

“No, thank you,” Cas replied as Dean shook his head. “Please, take a seat and we will begin.”

Penelope reluctantly sat down again, perching on the edge of the seat. She lay her hands elegantly on her lap, but her eyes were wild, frantically flicking around the room.

“How’s business?” Dean began. 

The question caught Penelope off guard, her expression slightly confused and taken aback as she looked at Dean. “Uh, business is good. We have three out of seven rooms currently vacant,” she replied. 

Dean nodded, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was something off about this place, he could feel it. “The place seems pretty quiet,” he noted.

“Everyone is out during the day.” Penelope smiled wryly.

“Do you run the inn on your own?” Castiel asked.

Penelope’s gaze snapped to Castiel, and she shook her head. “No, my husband is in the back garden currently. He does all the handiwork, while I manage the accounts and clean the rooms.”

Dean and Cas nodded thoughtfully, shooting a glance at each other. Dean stood, fixing his jacket as he did so. “Do you mind if I take a look around?” he asked.

Penelope hesitated before gesturing out of the room towards the rest of the inn. “Be my guest. Just please don’t disrupt the guests’ belongings.”

Dean strolled out of the room without another gesture of acknowledgement. As he made his way across the floor of the reception to the first guest room, he heard Castiel ask Penelope another question. The first room was decorated in a similar fashion to the sitting room, the only thing that differed was the belongings of the guest who was staying there. From the looks of it, Dean assumed there was one person staying in this room. He searched the room, but came up with nothing. As he left the room and moved down the hallway, Penelope’s eyes caught his from the sitting room. Dean could swear he saw fear in them. His suspicions grew. The second room on the ground floor was situated right behind the first, facing the back garden, and was almost identical. As Dean entered, he glanced outside, in search of Penelope’s husband, but the garden was empty. This room didn’t show anything promising either, and Dean made his way directly across the hall and found himself in the kitchen. It was a classic, homely kitchen, except for the large industrial oven and stove top. He strode over to the fridge, pulling open the door and bending forward to peek inside. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary: nothing that resembled a human heart. Dean stood upright, closing the fridge and turning to take another look around the almost too ordinary kitchen. It opened to a moderately sized dining room which backed the sitting room where Cas and Penelope were still sitting, chatting away. Both parties seemed to have relaxed a little. Dean caught Cas’ eye from the kitchen and he gave him a small smile. After Cas smiled back, Dean turned and noted a door that seemed to lead down to the basement. He was about to reach for the handle, to further investigate the sinking feeling he got when looking at this door, when the door to the back garden opened and a man entered. He spotted Dean instantly, his hand outstretched to the basement door handle, and a scowl darkened his face.

“What are you doing?” the man demanded in a loud voice. 

Dean calmly retracted his hand to his side and turned to face the man, squaring his shoulders and straightening his spine to tower over the man. “I’m Detective Howard, with the F.B.I. I’m here on an investigation,” he said, his voice calm, but stern, an authoritative tone lacing through to compliment his stance. Dean heard shuffling behind him and the sound of Penelope’s voice confirmed his thoughts: Cas and Penelope had come to see what the fuss was about.

“Robbie, dear, these nice men here are investigating a string of murders of some of the guests that have stayed here previously,” Penelope explained to who Dean assumed was her husband. 

The man, Robbie, relaxed a little, but his fuming facial expression didn’t budge. “You can search the inn, but the basement is off-limits,” he said through gritted teeth. 

Dean raised his eyebrows. “What’s in the basement?”

Robbie opened his mouth to let some angry, snarky comments out, but Penelope darted over to him and grabbed his arm before a syllable could escape his mouth. 

“The basement is too crowded with Robbie and I’s belongings, we can hardly move down there, let alone find anything,” she explained, a thin smile drawn tight over her mouth. It looked uncomfortable. 

Dean nodded his head once, as if he believed her, and glanced over his shoulder at Cas, who looked as though he believed the couple as much as Dean did. Dean pursed his lips and turned back to the couple; Penelope shuffled nervously on her feet, gripping on to her husband’s arm, and Robbie staring hard at Dean and Cas, chest heaving in irritance. 

“Right,” Dean started, “well, thanks for your time. We’ll be heading off then.” He took another suspicious look at the couple, before turning on his heel and stalking out of the inn, Cas close on his heels. The pair made it to Baby, and hurriedly got inside.

“Did you see that?!” Dean exclaimed, flicking the keys in the ignition, the impala rumbling to life.

Cas looked up at the inn, noticing the couple watching them through a crack in the drawn mesh curtains. “They were acting suspicious,” he mused.

“So suspicious! We need to get into that basement,” Dean said, backing the car out of the driveway and heading back down the highway towards the city. “Let’s sneak in tonight.”

The pair were silent for the rest of the ride.

*

Sam was already back at the motel when Dean and Cas arrived. As the pair entered the room, Sam stood excitedly.

“So get this,” he announced, “Joe Briggs stayed at this inn outside of the city the night before the murder. He was having an affair, and had to lie about it to his wife, saying it was a business trip. I looked into the inn and-”

“We know,” Dean interrupted his brother. “We just got back from that inn.”

“And?”

“I dunno what’s happening, man, but there’s something suspicious going on there. The couple were acting jittery and wouldn’t let me down to the basement. There were rooms booked, but no guests were there. We weren’t there long enough to have a look for anything supernatural,” Dean explained, removing his suit jacket and shoes as he did so.

“We’re going to investigate the basement later tonight,” Cas added.

“So, we still have no idea what it is?” Sam asked.

Dean sighed, lowering himself onto the bed. “Nope, maybe the couple is a shifter and a werewolf?” he suggested.

“What’s the motive for the shifter murdering the partners of the vics?” Sam questioned.

“Perhaps to take the suspicion off the inn,” Cas pointed out, moving to sit next to Dean on the bed. Their shoulders brushed as he adjusted his position to sit comfortably. Their knees pressed together. All this, Sam noticed, but didn’t point out.

“I dunno, it seems like a lot of trouble for a feed,” Dean said. The room was silent for a few minutes, each man mulling over the problem at hand. Sam was the one to interrupt it.

“So what now?”

Dean sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. “I guess we go see what we can find in that basement,” he said, his voice slightly muffled from his hands. 

~*~


End file.
